The Dark Secret of Weatherend

by John Bellairs

  THE BOOK OF THE DEAD

  by Simon of Salisbury

  Quidquid latet, apparebit Nil inultum remanebit

  —Venantius Fortunatus

  London, 1873

  Well! said Miss Eells to herself. This is one on me! I thought I knew most of the old books in this library. She flipped through it quickly, and to her surprise she found that it was all printed in Old English letters and appeared to be written entirely in Latin.

  Miss Eells closed the book and frowned. What on earth was this book doing in the library, anyway? Several years ago she had gone through the place thoroughly trying to weed out all the old unreadable books that had just been gathering dust for years. How had this one gotten past her? Miss Eells turned it over in her hands. She wanted to pitch it into the nearest wastebasket, but since it appeared to be a real library book, with a card in the catalogue, she figured she'd better put it back where it belonged. Later she could figure out how to get rid of it officially. With the book in her hand Miss Eells headed back into the stacks. As she went she sidled past a teenager who was standing on a stool, straining to reach a volume on the top rack. She glanced quickly at the long row of green Loeb Classical Library volumes. Again she checked the book's decimal number... Aha! This was the right section. Miss Eells stopped. She saw a gap on one shelf and was about to stuff the black volume into it when something happened.

  There was a slight hissing sound, and a puff of bluish dust rose from the top of the book. Like pipe smoke the little dust cloud came twisting and drifting through the air. A sweetish, perfumy smell tickled Miss Eells's nostrils. She felt dazed and a little faint, and suddenly in her mind's eye she saw that ring of standing stones again. Four leaning weathered boulders on a grassy hill and in the background a dark, humpbacked mountain and a stormy sky. Then the vision vanished, and the cloud of sweet-smelling dust was gone. Miss Eells stood there, stunned, with the black book in her hand.

  She felt very confused and a bit frightened. Had she been working too hard lately? Overworked and worn-out people sometimes had hallucinations. Maybe she ought to take a couple of aspirin and go lie down for a bit. She stuck the book into the gap on the shelf and hurried away.

  Miss Eells stayed in her office for the rest of the morning, and then went out to lunch. When she got back, she felt light-headed and feverish. Maybe she was coming down with a cold. Oh, well, if she was, there wasn't much that could be done about it.

  The early afternoon passed in its usual way, and then at a quarter to four Anthony showed up for work. That was late for him, but he had had to stay after school for a play rehearsal. He found Miss Eells standing in front of the fireplace in the East Reading Room. She was staring at herself in the mirror that hung over the mantel, and she was fiddling with loose strands of gray hair that stuck out from her bun-shaped hairdo.

  "Oh, hi, Anthony," she said, turning. "I'm getting all gussied up for the shindig that's going on upstairs at four. Don't I look devastating?"

  Anthony giggled. "Yeah, you look okay, I guess."

  Miss Eells made a face. "I honestly don't know." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if I was cut out to be a little old lady. I'm supposed to like tea parties, but personally I'd rather be on a slow boat to China. Also I feel kind of out of sorts today. Oh, well. I don't suppose I have to stay forever. See you later."

  And with that, Miss Eells turned and dragged herself toward the staircase. From the look on her face you would have thought she was going to the dentist to have a wisdom tooth pulled.

  A few minutes later Miss Eells stepped into the Genealogy Room. There were ladies galore: tall ones, short ones, fat ones, thin ones. In flower-print dresses, with cameo brooches, lace at the throat, pearl necklaces, and all. On a table near the door stood two silver-plated urns, one with hot water for tea and the other with coffee, and a huge glass punch bowl full of pinkish liquid. Nearby on another table were plates of little triangular sandwiches and bowls of peanuts. At the far end of the room a string quartet was playing. In the midst of all this was Mrs. Oxenstern, bigger than life and twice as bossy-looking. She was wearing her best white silk dress, and on her collar was the jeweled American flag pin that she always wore on special occasions. And, as usual, her silver-gray hair was done in a rippling permanent wave that looked so permanent Miss Eells always imagined attacking it with a hammer and chisel to uncover the plaster beneath. Everything was as it should be—polite and proper and indescribably boring.

  Miss Eells advanced into the room. She passed up the tea urn and the coffee urn and took a cup of punch. She sipped and winced—it was so sweet that it made her fillings ache. With the cup in her hand she turned and looked this way and that. And at that moment something very strange happened.

  It was as if Miss Eells had been suddenly seized by some force outside herself. She went reeling madly across the room, elbowing people aside and slopping punch everywhere. She stopped in front of Mrs. Oxenstern, and then, with a jerky motion of her hand, she threw the punch all over the front of the fat woman's dress. All Mrs. Oxenstern could do was stare in stupefied horror. Miss Eells was shocked too. She tried to speak, but only a strangled sound emerged from her throat. Then the force took hold of her again and flung her back across the room, to the table where the coffee urn was. Picking up two cups of coffee, one in each hand, Miss Eells went charging off. She raced the full length of the room as the bystanders ducked and dodged to get out of her way. She was headed straight toward the large Chinese vase that stood on a pedestal near one of the tall windows—one of Mrs. Oxenstern's prized possessions. Mrs. Oxenstern had lent it to the library because she wanted the Genealogy Room to look spiffy. Everyone was too shocked to move. They all just stood watching in slack-jawed amazement as the head librarian of the Hoosac Public Library went cannoning into the pedestal. The vase rocked, fell, and smashed to smithereens. One cup went flying one way, the other flew another, and Miss Eells fell down on her back, unconscious. The party was over.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After the crash an awful silence fell in the room. Everyone stood dead still, staring at the unconscious form of Miss Eells. In the middle of the room stood Mrs. Oxenstern. Across the front of her dress was a large pink stain. Her fists were clenched, her face was very red, and she was trembling all over with fury. When she could finally make herself move, she turned and stalked out of the room, walked down the stairs, and went straight into Miss Eells's office. She picked up the phone and called the police. Then she called the Hoosac Daily Sentinel, and, finally, the hospital. When she had finished phoning, Mrs. Oxenstern no longer looked angry—she looked triumphant.

  Three days later, on a cold, gusty November evening, Anthony Monday was ringing the doorbell of Miss Eells's house. He felt very bad. Miss Eells had been suspended from her job at the library. Although she hadn't exactly been fired yet, everybody figured that it was only going to be a matter of time before that happened. Wild stories were going around about her. Some people claimed she had been drinking on the day of the awful incident, while others said that she had gone crazy and hinted darkly that there was insanity in Miss Eells's family. Anthony's mother did not like Miss Eells, and so she believed both the drunk and insanity stories, and went around saying that she had "seen this coming" for a long time. As for Anthony himself, he was shocked and saddened by what had happened. At first he had absolutely refused to believe the things he heard about Miss Eells's wild behavior. On the day of the party he had seen her leave the library looking very grim and frightened, and of course he knew from all the commotion that something had gone wrong. But when people told him what had occurred, he just couldn't accept it. Then, finally, on the day after the incident, Miss Eells called Anthony up and gave him her version. She told him that something very strange was going on and that perhaps Anders Borkman was behind it all. Anthony responded by telling her of the strange disappearance of Borkman's journal, and Miss Eells suggested that Anthony come over soon, so they could figure out what to do.

  And so h
ere he was, in his leather jacket and red leather cap. Under his arm was a box of Dorfmeier's chocolates, the special dark, soft-centered assortment. Anthony's finger jabbed at the bell button. He pushed it again and again impatiently. All sorts of wild fears had been running through his mind lately. He had heard that people who lost their jobs often flipped out. It was true that Miss Eells had sounded quite level-headed when he talked to her on the phone, but still...

  There was a rattling sound. A chain was unhooked, a bolt was drawn back. The door opened and there stood Miss Eells, wearing one of her tasteless fake-Japanese kimonos with dragons all over it. Around her waist was a wide fringed sash, and stuck into it was a tiny samurai sword in a wooden sheath. It was a souvenir letter opener that she had gotten once on a trip to Japan. Miss Eells looked pale and drawn, but her eyes were clear and she was smiling.

  "Hi, kid!" she said, and she gave Anthony a jaunty little wave. "It's good to see you, and I'm glad you're still speaking to me. Some people aren't, you know."

  Tears sprang to Anthony's eyes. "Anyone that won't talk to you is a dumbhead and a creep," he said angrily. "The stuff that happened wasn't your fault. Somebody made you do it." Suddenly Anthony remembered the box of chocolates. "Here," he said, smiling. "This's for you."

  Miss Eells was touched. Now there were tears in her eyes. "Come on in," she said, giving Anthony a friendly pat on the arm. She smiled wryly as she looked at the candy box. "My, my! Just what I need! I'll be able to get fat while I collect my unemployment checks. Come on in! Don't just stand there with that woebegone look on your face! Let's see what's what, okay?"

  A. few minutes later Anthony was seated on Miss Eells's saggy couch with a bottle of Coke in his hand. Miss Eells was kneeling in front of the fireplace, toasting English muffins the old-fashioned way because her toaster was broken and she kept forgetting to have it fixed. As Anthony watched she turned the muffin this way and that, trying to get it browned evenly on both sides. Near her on the floor was a big jar of Frank Cooper's Oxford marmalade, a spoon, a couple of butter knives, and a stack of untoasted muffins. They were going to have a feast.

  "Whaddaya think about that book disappearing and me waking up with my socks on?" Anthony asked. "What's goin' on?"

  Miss Eells pursed up her lips. "Nothing good, that's for sure!" She turned and looked hard at him. "Tony, how come you never told me about the disappearance of Borkman's journal before?"

  Anthony hung his head. "I... I just didn't wanta talk about it. I was scared that I might be goin' outa my mind."

  Miss Eells smiled sympathetically. "Well, you weren't—or if you were, you've got company now. But it doesn't seem terribly likely that we're both going bats at the same time. Remember the day when Anders Borkman came to the library and had a talk with us in my office? Well, I have the darnedest odd feeling about that talk. I can't remember one little tiny thing," she said. "It's as if the whole time we spent in the office has been erased from my mind."

  Anthony nodded. "Yeah. It's... it's like it was all part of a dream or something like that."

  Miss Eells took the muffin off her fork, put it on a plate, and started buttering it. She added a big dollop of marmalade, spreading around with the back of the spoon, and handed the plate to Anthony.

  "A dream, eh?" she said thoughtfully as she put another muffin on the fork. "Yes... Borkman's visit was a bit like that, I suppose. And then, right afterward, you felt you'd been someplace in the middle of the night, only you couldn't remember where, and then whammo! Old Borkman's journal was gone! And speaking of disappearing books, the weird black book that he returned has totally vanished."

  Anthony was startled.

  "Yup, it's gone!" Miss Eells said solemnly. "I used my passkey to sneak back into the library the night before last, and there's just a gap on the shelf where I put it. Anthony, I am sure the dust Borkman put on that weird book made me do all those strange things at Mrs. Oxenstern's party. And you know what else I'm sure of?"

  As Miss Eells turned dramatically, pointing the toasting fork straight at Anthony, she discovered that there was a flaming muffin on the end of it. With a yell she jumped up, shook the muffin off onto the floor, and stomped on it with her foot. That done, she quickly dropped to her knees, picked up the charred muffin gingerly, and flipped it into the fire. But she was too late. There was a big ugly scorch mark on the rug.

  Miss Eells looked at Anthony helplessly. Then she laughed silently until the tears were running down her face. "Oh, dear!" she said, shaking her head and dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. "What next, Tony? I ask you." Finally getting control of herself, she stood up and brushed crumbs off her kimono. "As I was saying when the Great Fire broke out, I think Anders Borkman is dabbling in sorcery. The idea sounds incredible, I know, but I can't think of any other explanation for the insane things that have been happening to us lately." Miss Eells folded her arms. She turned and gave Anthony a long, searching look. And when she spoke again, there was a genuine tremor of fear in her voice.

  "Anthony, I'm worried. If Borkman—young Borkman—is using magic on us then... maybe the threats in old Borkman's diary were not just a lot of lunatic nonsense." She paused. "I know, I know! You tried to tell me this before, and I wouldn't listen. But now I think it is possible that the son has come back to finish the evil work that his father began. Remember when you read me that passage out of Borkman's diary? Well, there's a phrase that sticks in my mind: Let one who comes after me set the wheels in motion. Maybe..." Miss Eells's voice trailed off. She looked despondent. "Oh, Lord, Lord!" she exclaimed, shaking her head in despair. "If only he hadn't swiped the diary. Why didn't we have the sense to make a copy?"

  Anthony brightened up and grinned. "We did... er, I mean, I did! I made one at the library with the new Thermofax machine. I just wanted to see how the machine worked. And—"

  He never got to finish his sentence. With a joyous whoop Miss Eells rushed across the room and threw her arms around the boy, knocking his cap off in the process. "You wonderful, bright, clever, charming person!" she crowed delightedly. "You're a genius, you really, truly are! Where is it? Where did you put it? Did you bring it with you?"

  As soon as he could get a word in edgewise, Anthony explained that the Thermofax copy of Borkman's diary was tucked away in the bottom of one of his desk drawers at home.

  Miss Eells looked worried. "Are you sure it didn't disappear with the original? Have you checked?"

  Anthony smiled confidently. "Yeah. It's still there."

  Miss Eells heaved a sigh of relief. "Good! Let's hope it stays there till we get a chance to look at it. And now could I ask you to toast another muffin for me? I'll go out in the kitchen and brew a pot of my disgusting Lapsang souchong tea, and then we'll figure out what we ought to do next. Okay?"

  Anthony got busy with the toasting fork while Miss Eells went to the kitchen. Soon she returned with her big flowered Staffordshire teapot, steam curling up from the spout. Anthony recognized the smell drifting toward him; it was like a pile of burning wet leaves.

  After taking off the lid of the teapot and sniffing the rich, smoky aroma, Miss Eells poured herself a big, brimming cup. Then she settled herself in her wingback chair and took the muffin that Anthony handed her. As she munched and sipped she stared off into space. There was silence in the room.

  Suddenly, with a loud, alarming clatter, Miss Eells set down the cup, saucer, and plate. She leaped up, pulled the little samurai sword letter opener out of her belt, and brandished the tiny blade.

  "We've got to attack!" she exclaimed. "We've got to get him before he gets us!"

  Anthony gaped. He wondered If Miss Eells really had gone off her trolley this time. Then she turned, saw the expression on his face, and laughed. Throwing the letter opener down on the coffee table, she smiled sheepishly and said, "I get a bit dramatic sometimes. It comes from my grandfather, who was a Shakespearean actor. What I meant was, we've got to find some way to get inside Borkman's estate. Maybe he's planning to pu
ll some dirty work with those four statues we saw—Wind, Snow, Hail, and Lightning. Something's going on, that's for sure, but we really don't have an awful lot of information yet. If we can find some evidence, maybe we can use that book full of the old man's crackbrained ravings and really skewer him to the wall!" Miss Eells paused and smiled mischievously. "Besides," she added, "snooping around the grounds of the villain's estate always works in the movies."

  Anthony did not quite understand the logic of what Miss Eells had said. "How're we gonna break into Mr. Borkman's place?" he asked.

  "I don't really know," Miss Eells replied placidly. "But I'm sure I'll think of something. Actually I wasn't planning on breaking in. I had something more subtle in mind—" She snapped her fingers. "I know! I'll get hold of my brother, Emerson! He'll know what to do! He always has sneaky, tricky, devious plans and strategies up his sleeve. He can get us into Weatherend—I'd bet money on it!"

  Anthony knew Emerson Eells well. Emerson was a lawyer up in St. Cloud. He was a little rabbity man with a big shock of white hair and a very precise way of talking. When Anthony had gone on trial because of a treasure he had found, Emerson had defended him. Anthony liked and respected his courage and resourcefulness, and felt if anyone could get them onto Borkman's estate, he could.

  But suddenly an unpleasant thought occurred to Anthony. "Miss Eells," he began, frowning, "what're you gonna do about your job? Are they really gonna fire you?"

  Miss Eells stopped smiling. Her jaunty manner vanished, and she suddenly looked old and careworn. She stared at the tea leaves in the bottom of her cup, as if she were trying to read her fortune there. "I honestly don't know what the library board will do, Anthony. For the time being I've been suspended from my job, without pay, and the board will meet again in early December to decide my fate. I will admit that things do not look terribly rosy. After all, I've only got one friend on the board, and that's Mrs. Bump, the reporter who kept the story out of the Sentinel. But it's a seven-member board, and you can be sure that Mrs. Oxenstern will hang me from the yardarm if she can possibly manage to do it."